The Door to her Worst Memories
by RgjIrishdancr
Summary: Knowing what he did about her previous life, Eric wasn't all that surprised when Nell started having flashbacks-but the trigers helped him piece together more of the puzzle that was Nell Jones. One- /two- shot intros; a case-fic story to come. Eric/Nell pre-ship. (Callen is taking over the 'protective big brother' role the more the story progresses.) Nell-centric but a team fic
1. An Introduction (of Sorts)

**An Introduction (of Sorts)**

Most people assumed Nell Jones had an idyllic childhood. And, if you didn't look past the obvious facts, it was understandable. A dad, a mom, a boy, a girl, a dog,acat, a hampster, a gerbil, an assortment of fish, 2/5 acres of land in a nice neighborhood, a big house with a white picket fence: what's not to like?

But a little bit of carefull digging, if you knew where to look, told a very different story. Eric Beale knew the facts of Nell's real childhood. Facts like the number of times the police had been called to their house (between when the family moved in when Nell was three and when she moved out at almost seventeen): 15. Twice to look for Nell, three times to look for her brother, Randy, five times for both kids (all but one of this group occured in the last seven years before Nell moved out). The other five times were for more normal things: twice for shady people loitering around, once for a robbery attempt, once for an un-answered call from the security company, and once for an accidental dial-or at least that was the official story.  
Then there was the family's long and illustrious history with DHR: seven dismissed or inconclusive child abuse, endangerment, or neglect cases, all but one after ananymous tips (the other one was a teacher concerned about the blood blister Randy got on his knee sliding into home plate during the Little League Tournament finals). Which brought up the subject of ER visits: 26 in 14 years. Everything from appendicitis, broken bones, and a concusionto x-rays,...well, Eric couldn't find any causes that started with Y or Z, but the x-rays, broken bones, and dislocted joints made up for it. Some of the stories were pcredible (It's hard to fake appendicitis), some probable (Randy broke four fingers in his years playing baseball), some plausible (Nell's cracked rib from jumping off a swing), and some downright unlikely (what self-respecting seven-year-old boy falls out of a tree twice in a week, even if he was unhurt the first time?).  
But the cherry on top of the sundae of statistics was that both children had filed for emencipation the day of their sixteenth birthdays. Randy's case dragged on for two years, at which point he was eighteen and it didn't matter anyways. Nell won in just over a year, at which point she had already moved out to college and was pretty much self-sufficient.  
Then there was where the sibblings went after they left: Randy joined the Marines and ended up an agent with a cover so deep Nell was one of about a dozen people whoknew he wasn't, in fact, dead (his personell file listed him as MIA). (And she didn't find out until she started working with NCIS.) Combine that with what Eric already knew about Nell's life during and post-college, and that every member of her extended family (except her and one cousin) was either tetotaler or alcoholic, and that her father was the latter, "A good dad and a great man...before about 7:30 or so," and Eric had a pretty good idea of what Nell's previous life had been like.

So he wasn't all that surprised when she started having falshbacks-but the triggers helped him piece in more of the puzzle that was Nell Jones.

Reviews are appreciated! I love (what my photography teacher calls) oreo reviews: something you like, something to work on, something you like.


	2. Fact, Inference, and Opinion (Part 1)

**Fact, Inference, and Opinion (Part 1)**

Eric Beale walked back into Ops after grabbing some coffee and noticed a bright orange Post-It note on his computer. "What's that?" he asked Nell as he sat down.

"My new address. You are stil planning on coming, right?"

Nell had been dropping hints about her new place for weeks, but tonight was the big reveal. "You betcha I am!" Nell looked like she might jump out of her chair. Eric flashed her a sideways smile before returning to work. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen her this excited, and it looked good on her.

Eric knocked on Nell's front door exactly eleven minutes after walking out of the mission. "Come in," Nell called from inside. Eric stepped into the living room. It looked about the same as her old one, with the sofa against the front wall, a wall-mounted TV across from it with low shelves below, and her antique trunk serving as a coffee table. She had gotten a new chair, Eric noted, and behind it was the promised fishtank, inhabited by Marlin, Nemo, Dory, and two hermit crabs who were _definately_ in each other's personal space. Further down that wall, Eric could see a bar which obviously served as Nell's work area, with her laptop, iPad, and what loooked like programming books covering most of the availible space. The bar was also the fourth side of the kitchen, judging by the enticing aromas drifting around the corner. Eric glaced around for Nell's library ,which she was thrilled to finally have room to unpack, but the only books he saw were programming books, field guides, and such underneath the TV.

He stepped into the kitchen to see Nell closing the oven with a satisfied look. "Do I smell cookies?" Nell gestured towards the oven timer, which had 7 minutes remaining. To Eric's fake pout, she added, "You haven't seen the best part yet."She slid open the pocket door at the end of the kitchen, and Eric stepped in-to what he could only describe as a Nell-cave.

The entire wall to his left was covered in floor-to-ceiling bookcases, which housed Nell's extensive library. Just glancing at it, Eric noticed _Nancy Drew_, _Hardy Boys_, _Wizard of Ox_, Clive Cussler, _Sherlock Holmes_, _Star Trek_, even Timothy Zahn over on the far end (Alphabetical order by author's name-typical Nell). She hadn't been kidding when she said she owned almost every good mystery, fantasy, or Sci-Fi book ever written. The wall directly in front of him was a wall of windows, with sheer curtains to cut down on glare as well as the Mario-Kart pannels Nell had promised. A long storage bench underneath the windows housed board games and blankets (for movie nights). Another pocket door was on the wall to Eric's right, the rest of the wall lined with 2-shelf bookcases housing movies and video games on top and baskets of game equipment on the bottom. The TV stand was in the corner, barely visible with the TV and Kinect on top and Xbox, Wii, and Game Cube inside. Two denim beanbags took up most of the availible floor space. Nell grinned. "You like it?"  
"I love it!"  
"I got my posters up," and Eric realized he had forgotten to look up. Sure enough, there they were: _Back to the Future_, Bourne _Identity_, and her prized Star Wars VI poster, one of the rare ones that said _Revenge of the Jedi_-and a periodic table. Eric almost started laughing, it was so Nell. "So, did the floor plan include a game room, or what?"  
"Well," Nell grinned wryly, "this was actually a study that was only accessible from the bedroom, but the previous tennant had some-major-anger mannagement issues. He punched a hole right through this wall, and since they had to tear it down anyways, they added a door for me. Hey, have you seen my pictures?" When Eric shook his head, Nell replied, "They're in the hall."

The photo collage in the hall was a virtual timeline of Nell's life. Toddler pictures of her and Randy-they were both adorable-Nell and Randy in a treehouse (with Nerf guns), Nell at what looked like a piano recital. _I didn't know she played piano_, Eric thought, as he stepped backwards and almost fell over, yep, a piano. Then there was Nell and Randy with huge smiled holding two shiny trophies in front of a science fair board. There were landscapes, too-probably Nell's photography-which were matted and framed, next to her diplopas and graduation tassels. There was also a photo from her graudation (high school or college, Eric couldn't tell), with Nell, Randy, their parents, and-Randy's girlfirend? _No, she's standing next to Nell's mom. Who is that?  
_"Eric, you hungry?" Nell called.  
It had to be her sister, Eric decided, _she looks like Nell's mom_. _How on earth did I miss that?  
_Nell suddenly appeared by his elbow. "Learning something?"  
"I didn't know you played piano, and I thought I had your family fingured out, but apparently not."  
"We can talk while we ear."


	3. Fact, Inference, and Opinion (Part 2)

**Fact, Inference, and Opinion (Part 2)**

Eric was half-way through his third slice of pizza before his appetite was surpressed enough to talk. "So, I thought I had you family figured out, but aparently not..."  
"Probably because Lisa never did anything notable, besides score a 35 on the ACT, win a Nationla Merit Scholarship, be a medical mystery for 9 years, and get Randy and I in trouble constantly."  
Eric glanced at her in time to catch Nell's eye roll. "Unresolved sibling issues?"  
"You could say that, yes."  
"So if she was a medical mystery,than why did she never show up in hospital records?"  
"One, she only went to the hospital four times, one was before we moved here and two others were while she was a college. Two, the one time she did go the the ER you looked through wouldn't have shown up on a search because her last name isn't Jones."  
"She's the red-headed step-child?"  
Nell didn't find that funny. "Actually, to her Randy and I were the red-headed step-children. She was our mom's daughter."  
_That explains why she looked like their mom, not them_. "So what's this whole medical mystery thing?"  
"Ever heard of Celiac Disease?"  
Eric shook his head. "Autoimmune disorder that causes intollerance to gluten, a protien found in wheat, barely, and rye. Eatinggluten causes the body to attack itself and destroys the villi that line the intestine, leading to malnutrition and a wholebuffet of other symptoms. The reason that it took 9 years to diagnose Lisa was because her symptoms were atypical. Low weight, short stature. None of the typical GI or immune symptoms like lots of violent allergies and frequent infections."  
"So she couldn't eat wheat, barely, or rye?"  
"Couldn't eat it, or get it contaminating anything she would eat. It would make her break out if it was in something like lotion. We had to keep any food that had wheat in it seperate and keep the crumbs contained." Nell intentionally wiped her wheat-covered hands on her jeans in rebellion. "She was crazy hyper-vigilant. Would yell at Randy and I all the time. We would eat outside alot during teh summer just to get away from it."  
"Sounds like a rough way to live."  
"It was a lot." Nell took another bite of her pizza, forcing down memories of years of hyper-gluten-vigilant living. "So, tell me what you know and I'll fill in the rest."  
"Well, one of you ended up in the ER 2 or 3 times a month."  
Nell grinned. "Randy was one of the most injury-prone people I knew up until he was 18 or so. Sometimes he'd be getting one set of stiches in and another out."  
"There were no stiches on the hospital records."  
"We got those done on base. They were less likely to ask awkward questions...there's a very 'boys will be boys' mentality in the military that didn't exist in the hospital."  
"Yeah, well some of those ER stories seemed...unlikely. Did Rany realy fall out of a tree twice in the same week?"  
Nell fought to keep from laughing Kool-Aid all over the table. "We were building a treehouse. It had some, um, structural integrity issues."  
Eric had to put his head down on the table, he ws laughing so hard.

When they had recovered, Nell added, "Well, the official story was that he was climbing our oak tree, since we didn't want our parents knowing the secrets we had back in the woods."  
"Is that connected to all those police visits?"  
"When things would get volatile at the house, which was a lot, we would head into the woods. We rarely took the same route twice, and were careful not to leave trails. We built a whole network of forts and hidey hole back there, playing we were spies hiding from evil minions. We had food and Nerf guns in every concievable spot. It was impossible for your average person to find us back there. Randy was a boy scout, and he knew any scout worth his salt could trackus, including a particularly friendly rookie deputy with the county sherriffs." Nell grinned at the recolection. "He came out of a bad situation by way of foster care; he would track us back there and talk until we were ready to go home."

Eric looked serious again. "What about all those DHR visits?"  
"Mostly because of Randy's injuries. There was the occasional, you know, bruise we really couldn't talk about. Dad didn't get drunk often, but when he did..."  
"I thought you said he was alcoholic?"  
"Alcholo dependant. He had to have a glass of wine or two. Or three. Enough to cause some really painful word vomit, but nothing worse. And we figured out by ten or so that he couldn't pick a lock drunk, so we turned our doorknobs back around and locked ourselves in."  
"Back around?"  
"Had to be locked into our rooms during nap time or we would escape from the house. The doorknobs were turned with the thumb torn on the outside. And superglued after Randy took his apart with a paperclip in 5 minutes flat."  
"He was _how_ old?"  
"Three. He had ADHD with a 16-point H. Could dead-life himself onto countertops at two. My parents started him on medication after he scored the kitchen table with steak knives and took a wooden spoon, soaked it in canola oil, and lit it on fire in the stove to make a torch. They never did figure out how he got the oil." Nell giggled for a second before explaining, "He dead-lifted himself onto the counter and hauled me up so I could climb on his shoulders and get it off the top shelf."  
"I get the feeling there's a good story behind those second-degreee burns."  
"He was lighting his pants on fire."  
Eric almost dropped his glass. "He was WHAT?"  
"If you pat lighter fluid onto your pants you can put a flame to it and the lighter fluid will burn until it's gone. You and your pants are fine. Randy couldn't get them to light that time, though, and accidentaly soaked through his pants and got lighter fluid on his skin. It didn't end well."  
"Why do I get the feeling that you've done this before?  
"Randy would never let me. For the record, it's much safer if you take off your pants, put the lighter fluid on with a sponge, and then put them back on a and gake a match to it."  
"How did we even get to this topic?"  
"Um, backwards doorknobs to Randy's ADHD to why he went on medication to second degree burns to lighting pants on fire."  
"Have I ever told you that you have an amazing memory?"  
Nell smiled and blushed a little. _She's cute when she does that._ "You know, I'm really starting to which I lived down the street from you when we were kids...and that I could meet Randy.:  
"Well, you might get to...some day."

Eric sensed that the particular topic of conversation was making Nell unhappy, so he asked, "What did you two do when you were in school?"  
"Well, we may or may not have picked the lock of the middle school chemistry lab during lunch to melt rocket fuel."  
"I didn't know you could pick lock."  
"Once upon a time, I could pick just about any lock with a paperclip, some bobby pins, and a swiss army knife or two. And if that didn't work, Randy could always take them apart."  
"So did you still do crazy stuff when you got older?"  
"I can neither confirm nor dny that Randy nearly set the kitchen of our rental house in college on fire demostrating the proper method for lighting pants on fire to Na-to our third roommate."  
"And this mysterious third roommate was..."  
Nell sighed. "You might as well know...it was Nate."  
Eric looked confused. "But if you had a rental house, how did you get...you know...stuff?"  
"It was Randy's. He knew I needed it."  
"Why didn't you just tell me that?"  
"To keep you safe, Eric. I knew if you knew you would get curious and start going through his file and find out...stuff you didn't need to know. But since you know anyways..." Nell's voice trailed off.

_Time to change the subject again_. "What else did you do in college?"  
"Weeelll, there may or may not have been some street hockey tournaments in the hall of the rancher." To Eric's shocked look, Nell added, "IF it ot bigger than three on three we had to take it outside.  
_I get the feeling I'm missing something_. "Should I have caught that reference?"  
"You've never seen Cheaper by the Dozen?"  
"What is that, some sort of cost-saving reality show?"  
"Strike one. Commedy about a family with 12 kids they are barely in control of. Histerical, ut best watched after 10 pm."  
Eric glanced at his watch. "Barely 8."  
"We have two hours to kill. What about some Mario Kart?"  
"Full cup, one on one."  
Nell grinned playfully. "You're going doooown."

NOTE: Do not try anything Nell and Randy did at home. If you do, don't sue me. If you didn't understand the part after Nell says Nate was their thrid roommate, go back and read New Girl in OPS.


	4. Flashback

**Flashback**

"Yo, Eric, I need you to run the plates on that SUV," Sam called over the comms.  
"On it!" Eric Beale replied.  
"I need a full search for Anne Stephens," Kensi called from the other side of LA.  
"Got it," Nell replied from the next chair.

Eric's fingers flew over the keys in perfect rhythm with his petite partners'. He had gotten to the point that he subconsciously matched her typing speed because he knew that the otherwise mismatched clacks could drive her up the walls. Which was why it took him a split second to realize that he had quit hearing keystrokes, and another one to realize it was because she wasn't typing. Eric glanced over at Nell, the heavy feeling in his stomach growing as he realized that she wasn't moving at all, except for quick, shallow breaths. Her fingers were frozen, gripping the ends of the armrests on her chair; her expression was one that Eric had never seen before, yet it seemed strangely familiar.  
"Eric," Callen called.  
The memory clicked. Eric had seen the expression once before, on Callen, as the special agent lay in a hospital bed, flashing back to the shooting that nearly claimed his life. Eric switched to private comms between him, Nell, and Callen.  
"Callen. Whadaya do for flashbacks?" Eric asked tensely.  
"Focus on something else," came the concerned reply. "Something in the room, someone in the room. A list you memorized. Override the flashback by gradually dragging your brain onto something else."  
"Nell," Eric turned to his partner. "Talk to me. What's the Fibinacci sequence?"  
Nell crumpled her face, as if concentrating. "I...can't..."  
"Pi to 100 digits?"  
Silence.  
"Backwards from 1 million by 333s?"  
"Eric..."  
"Phonetic alphabet? C'mon, Nell, you can do it..."  
"Alpha..." Nell's voice sounded oddly distorted.  
"Nell, it's not real," Callen said softly. "You're in Ops."  
"Beta..."  
Eric cocked an eyebrow.  
"Greek alphabet," Callen whispered.  
"Gamma...delta..."  
"That's Greek, Nell," Callen corrected. "Bravo."  
"Charlie...delta...echo...foxtrot..."  
Nell's voice started to sound a little less strained.  
"golf...hotel...India..."  
Eric could see her starting to relax a little.  
"Juliet...kilo...Lima...Mike, November,"  
Nell's breathing started to slow down.  
"Oscar, papa, Qubec, Romeo, Sierra, tango, uniform, victor,"  
Slowly, her hands unclenched from the chair. Eric reached over and started gently rubbing her shoulder.  
"Whiskey, xray, Yankee, zulu."  
Eric heard Callen let out his breath over the comm as Nell launched into another vaguely-phonetic-sounding recitation that was definately _not_ Englis.  
"Russian phonetic," Callen murmered.  
Somewhere during Nell's recitation, Hetty entered Ops. By the time Nell finished, she looked normal again, the color back in her cheeks and the sparkle back in her eyes.  
"Miss Jones, your knowledge of the Russian phonetic alphabet is impressive," Hetty complemented. Eric offered Nell a sideways smile, which she returned impishly. "Mr. Beale," Hetty inquired, "what do we have?"

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Preview of what is to come:

"It has come to my attention," Hetty announced, "that entirely too much profanity clutters the atmosphere in this workplace. I therefore am instituting a moratorium on swearing. Anyone heard using vulgar or profane language," and Hetty looked each team member in the eye, in turn, "will owe this container, to supplement our wardrobe department, one dollar. Per word."

Callen's face was carefully a undercover-trained blank. Sam's portrayed a hint of a smile. Kensi looked a bit triumphant, probably about the prospect of reigning her sometimes inappropriate partner in a bit. Deeks' mouth hung open a few centimeters. Eric looked a bit shocked, and Nel perhaps a touch surprised but not displeased. Callen realized that the two of them probably had heard every swear word in the book from the rest of the team over the past few years.

"This ban includes all forms of swearing, including abreviations," Deeks snapped his fingers in an "aw, man!" gesture, "and foreign languages." Hetty's gaze lingered particularly on Callen and Nell. "No Russian. Or Spanish, for that matter," and she finally diverted her stare to Kensi. "Yes ma'am," Kensi replied. "All of you," Hetty continued, "are allowed to report each other's failures regarding this rule. And are under my protection while doing so, provided the allegations are true. By the testimony of two wittnesses-or audio tape-will such matters be determined." Hetty strode back towards her desk. "Now, I believe you all have work to do?"


	5. Aftermath

Caution: This chapter does contain a bit of graphic material (Nell's description of her flashback—includes injury and suggestions of abuse).

**Aftermath**

"G., where you going?" Sam inquired as his partner strode past the bullpen.

"Ops. Got something to take care of." Callen turned his back so he couldn't see Sam's undoubtedly questioning expression and bounded up the stairs.

Nell was alone in Ops, her fingers flying over the keyboard. "Nell, can we talk?" She might have inclined her head slightly, but besides that, Callen could see no reaction. He grabbed a chair and moved over to sit next to her.

"Nell."

She stopped typing but didn't look toward him.

"Stop hiding from it. Trust me, it'll only make it worse."

"Stop hiding from...what?" Nell's voice carried an ever-so-slightly-forced questioning tone. _She's a pretty good operator_, Callen thought. He sighed. This was almost as bad as trying to have this type of conversation with Kensi. _And only made worse because Kensi at least trusts me. Nell...I don't know._

"Don't try to play clueless, Nell," Callen said gently. _I know you know what I'm talking about. You're smarter than that._ "Look, I know this is hard, and if you don't want to talk about...what happened this morning, that's okay. But I know from experience..." Callen forced his emotions back under the surface before deciding that maybe, a little bit of vulnerability would help get Nell talking. "...if you don't take control of it, it will take control of you." Callen willed his voice not to crack and swallowed hard before continuing, "I've been through that, and...I don't want you to have to live that nightmare."

Nell's face was blank, a mask that told of years of...something. _Years of practice hiding her emotions, but from whom? She seems open enough here...perky and happy a lot of the time, determined to get to the bottom of things, worried when we have someone in danger, even scared occasionally. What did she have to hide? Why did she have to hide?_

"Nell." Callen carefully considered his next words. "I mean this in absolutely the nicest way possible, so hear me out, please. Don't be this stupid. Don't think if you ignore it, it will just...go away. Don't try to act like you can handle it yourself. Geez, Nell, don't act like me. Don't act like Kensi does a lot of the time. Once you start...it's hard to stop hiding things...bottling them up. Talk to me, Nell. Talk to Kensi, or Hetty. Talk to Eric. Call Nate. I don't know, just...talk to somebody. Trust me, it makes it easier."

Nell let her head drop, the first time she'd moved since Callen sat down. "Does it really...make it easier...to describe them?"

Callen nodded. "That's what Nate said...told me."

Nell swallowed hard. "I hear my father downstairs. He's drunk, really drunk. More than he ever has been. He almost died of alcohol poisoning a few hours later." Nell avoided Callen's gaze. "I hear him pounding up the stairs, yelling because of something I apparently did. He busts into my room. He reeks of alcohol; I could smell him before he opened the door. He grabs my arm, hauls me to my bed. Turns me around like he's getting ready to spank me." Nell's tone told Callen that, besides her dad being more drunk than usual, this was so far not an unexpected occurrence. "Then he stops and throws me backwards onto my bed. He..." Nell shivered. Callen gently pulled her sweater from the back of her chair and laid it over her shoulders. "He ripped off my shirt. I had a tank top underneath. He pulls off my athletic shorts and throws them over my chair. I started kicking, punching, biting; he starts clawing at my tank top. Then there's this loud crack and he collapses on the floor. Randy...my brother...is behind him; had hit him on the head with his casted arm. Then he runs to the bathroom between our bedrooms, throws up from the pain. I see blood pouring out from under his cast...he had greenstick fractured the arm three days ago. I look at my dad on the floor, and then I see Randy...passed out in a pool of his own blood...because he was protecting me." Nell broke down, her body shaking with sobs. Callen reached over and stroked her hand, not doing anything else because he didn't want to upset her more. With his free hand, he sent Kensi a one-word text: "Ops."

Kensi took the stairs to Ops two at a time; a one word text from Callen implied speed. It took her a second to process what she saw inside—Nell with her head down on her desk, shoulders shaking, as Callen stroked her hair gently. _What happened,_ she mouthed. _Flashbacks_, Callen replied.

Kensi sat down beside Nell and put an arm around her shoulders, gently whispering in the analysts ear, "It's okay Nell. We've got you. You're safe here."


	6. The Games

A/N: This chapter is much more light-hearted, sort of a funny interlude in the story.

**The Games**

"It has come to my attention," Hetty announced, "that entirely too much profanity clutters the atmosphere in this workplace. I therefore am instituting a moratorium on swearing. Anyone heard using vulgar or profane language," and Hetty looked each team member in the eye, in turn, "will owe this container, to supplement our wardrobe department, one dollar. Per word."

Callen's face was carefully an undercover-trained blank. Sam's portrayed a hint of a smile. Kensi looked a bit triumphant, probably about the prospect of reining in her sometimes inappropriate partner in a bit. Deeks' mouth hung open a few centimeters. Eric looked a bit shocked, and Nell perhaps a touch surprised but not displeased. Callen realized that the two of them probably had heard every swear word in the book from the rest of the team over the past few years.

"This ban includes all forms of swearing, including abreviations," Deeks snapped his fingers in an "aw, man!" gesture, "and foreign languages." Hetty's gaze lingered particularly on Callen and Nell. "No Russian. Or Spanish, for that matter," and she finally diverted her stare to Kensi. "Yes ma'am," Kensi replied. "All of you," Hetty continued, "are allowed to report each other's failures regarding this rule. And are under my protection while doing so, provided the allegations are true. By the testimony of two wittnesses-or audio tape-will such matters be determined." Hetty strode back towards her desk. "Now, I believe you all have work to do?"

"Kensi, Deeks, you go check out the house; Sam and I will try and track down the CO." The four agents headed out of Ops.

Eric reached under his keyboard and removed six sheets of paper, labeled "Beale, E.", "Blye, K.", "Callen, G.," "Deeks, M.", "Hanna, S.", and "Jones, N." Nell flashed him a sideways smirk. "Let the games begin!"

Deeks took the first point, responding as a man took off running from the house. Callen quickly passed him up, forgetting that Nell understood enough Russian to know he hurled not one but six curses at an offending driver. By lunch, only Sam and Nell remained in the clear; the jury of Hetty was still out as to whether Eric's "darn" counted.

He had never heard Nell swear, Eric realized, though the occasional conversation with Nate gave him the distinct impression she knew how and would do so on occasion. Sam, being a dad, was used to having to reign in his language, and Callen had been around Sam's kids enough that Eric could count on one hand the times lately Callen had used English profanity—Russian was his favorite but he would use Spanish on occasion. And then there were Kensi and Deeks. Deeks was winning—or rather losing—by a long shot except for Callen (courtesy of the Russian tirade that morning). Kensi only owed the wardrobe department $2 currently, and both of them the TV people wouldn't even think about bleeping. But Hetty was cracking down hard.

Callen appeared suddenly right behind Eric, and only a quick clench of the jaw kept him unofficially in the clear money-wise. "Callen, do you have to sneak up on me?"

"Didn't realize I was, Eric. What have you got?"

"Um...well, Nell?"

Nell made a slashing motion across her throat.

"Um...I think..."

"We've got nothing," Callen all but yelled. "Oh,...!" He stopped short.

"Without swearing, how are we supposed to read your frustration meter?" Eric wondered.

"This could negatively affect the team dynamics," Callen growled. "Just put down another mark, Eric. I haven't decided what I'm going to say yet; figure if it's going to hurt, I might as well make it good." After a moment, he snarled something in Russian.

Eric glanced at Nell. "That was one word," she confirmed. "Believe me, you don't want to know."

After hours of plowing and bulldozing through programming, Nell had finally hit a rock wall. The stupid encryption just refused to crack. Eric had to fight down a smirk as Nell dug into her extensive science-fiction-curses knowledge, silently thanking Timothy Zahn for inventing his own profanity to keep his books appropriate. "Nell, how're you doing?"

"Happier than a tornado in a trailer park," Nell growled. "What does it look like?"

"Happier than an antelope with night-vision goggles?"

"Slinky on an escalator?" Nell suggested.

"Monster in a trash can," came Sam's reply from the door.

"Really? You just compared me to Oscar the Grouch?" Nell stuck her bottom lip out in a fake pout, which failed miserably as Eric and Sam started laughing.

When he had recovered, Eric added, "I'm pretty sure she just called that encryption a low-down, stuck-up, half-witted, scruffy-looking nerfhearder."

"Aw, man!" Sam replied in a perfect Swiper impression, making Nell smirk. "That wasn't nice! Glad someone's expressiveness isn't being encroached upon. Deeks just about got walloped upside the head because Callen's—"

"—frustration meter is difficult to read without profanity," Nell finished

Sam groaned. "Tell me about it. He almost tried to wrestle my earwig away from me so he could swear in the car. It is an interesting character study how the team is handling this. You two are geeking out."

"You're resorting to your kids TV shows," Eric added.

"Deeks' wallet is seeing stars," Sam replied, heading downstairs.

"And Callen...isn't," Nell concluded. "Hmm...I wonder if this was Hetty's point?" From downstairs, Nell could hear Deeks reach for something. "Hey!," Callen yelled.

"Swiper, no swiping!" Sam scolded from the balcony.

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A preview of what is to come:

"Nell, look into Richardson's work some more. Check communications for any indications of unrespectable buisiness dealings. Eric, pull all unsolved cases that match this profile among military and ex-military families as far back as we have records," Callen finally said. "Kensi, Deeks, try and profile his coworkers, see if anyone would want him gone."  
The team was half-way out the door when Eric called them back. "Um...guys? I got a hit."

"It's an old case, Air Force Colonel Edward Randall Jones. Married, two kids at the time."  
Callen's eye flicked to his left as Nell slipped quietly out the sliding doors. Eric noticed it two, and glanced at Callen with a questioning look. Callen in turn glanced toward Hetty, who showed no expression, and the Kensi, who gave a small shrug. _No idea_.  
"You said two kids at the time, Eric?" Sam asked.  
"Um, yeah, two kids and a step-kid. His wife's daughter Lisa," a yearbook picture from the time of the case and an Alabama driver's license picture appeared on the screen, "Edward Randall, Jr.," another yearbook picture, a sharp-looking kid with curly copper-colored hair; and a military ID, several years old. "Offically MIA."  
"Unofficially?" Callen asked.  
"One of ours. Marine spy in the Middle East." Hetty added.  
"Who's the third kid?"  
Eric swallowed hard, and flicked up another yearbook picture, a redhead with a playful smile. Then he added a NCIS ID. "Our Nell."


End file.
